The grizzly voice of Ursaren was heard as he cleared his throat as he walked. A dragon? While Ursaren hated to believe in such tales, he did fight a dragon a long time ago, and it was a great beast at that. "If there's a dragon attacking the mountains, that could only mean more trouble is to had if it decides to attack beyond those mountains." Ursaren mightily spoke out as he continued behind Verya. He kept observing the wilderness with awe like he had done prior to the elven meeting until the group arrived at a gang of wood elves, all with their bows drawn and pointed at a woman with hair as gold as Ursaren's spirit.

The old man stared at the woman for a bit while the rest of the group began to speak about what this woman has done to deserve being tied up and injured like this. Ursaren then started to stray from the group and he wandered to the woman on his lonesome. Onlookers would be confused, maybe angered at the elder for doing this so suddenly and without warning. Once close enough to the woman, he got down on his knees and sifted through his bag, searching for some things that he had within it. While he was searching, he looked over to the wood elf closest to the prisoner's right hand and he directed something at them. "Excuse me, can you untie this woman's hand please?" He didn't want to come off as a threat to this group, so he asked because of this. Ursaren simply wanted to give the woman something to eat, as she kind of needed it with how she was looking right now.

News of a dragon was certainly shocking, but even if this woman had direct connection to such events there was no need to treat the elves were. They roughly shoved her forward, as if wayward livestock for inspection. Mind you, it did look like she'd been in a sty for a while as her golden hair flowed in muddy and matted lengths down now stained brown shoulders and coat. Her gambeson was in a dire state with a few of the buttons missing and the few remaining not bothered to be done up, leaving her bareness for the world to see. The fact she was wearing a gamberson suggested that she had probably been wearing armour before she was captured, Alice guessed from the noble features on the woman that it was probably some sort of plate. Quite the fall from grace, Alice could only guess at how the Elves treated their prisoners, them believing they are superior.

Urasen spoke to one of the immediate guards, "Excuse me, can you untie this woman's hand please?", though certainly not in a threatening way. Alice took this a cue to provide small mercies.

Perhaps in need to most urgent care was the crimson line of blood running down this lady's front, starting from her lower face and rolling down her chin onto her front. Maybe the cuffs restricted this woman's ability to deal with the injury, or maybe she just didn't care. Actually, from a second look at the bruised but undoubtedly beautiful (and decidedly Andred) face Alice caught sight of the cold eyes that stared at everything and nothing, maybe she hasn't noticed? was a disturbing observation that floated around in Alice's head. It would have taken the steeliest of hearts not to have been swayed by such a display, even though it was worth noting the injuries were superficial. It would have taken a lot to do anything more to her deceptively robust and lean-ly built frame.

Alice moved past the guards and started cleaning the woman's wounds and restoring a bit of modesty, if only to the extent she could. The gambeson might have little ability to retain itself, but with a re-adjustment of the belt it clung itself around her shapely curves nicely even if it would probably shake itself free should there be any quick movements. Alice dipped a linen bandage into the supply of Guarden juice, hoping the Elfen drink had some sort of disinfecting properties and started trying to pat and wipe the various cuts. Even before she tried to she knew that a particular cut on the lip needed stitches, and the nose was probably broken; both of which procedures were beyond the skill of the Vrettonnian noble.

Alice said to the woman in a gentle fashion, "Please, sip this." and offered to pour some of the revitalising spirits into her no doubt sore mouth, and hoping to get a look to see if all the teeth were there. "It's magic, it'll help." She didn't bother trying to hide her accent, even if it might throw up a sense of alarm in the woman who had probably warred against the Vrettonnian nation before. She didn't feel like she could deceive someone in such a state.

When one of the human-dominated group, an old man with a wrinkled face framed by a wisely beard, approached Jezebeth, the defeated Knight had already slipped into the warm, comfortable nest of her memories. In it, she had returned to the day she was knighted, promoted from squire to a lesser knight. It had been a fine noon, a proud day with the clouds apart and the sun blazing in its fullest glory. This was after she had tracked down and, with difficulty, banished the Succubus that had seduced and taken her mentor's honour.

Jezebeth remembered the hosts of Guardian Knights who'd attended the ceremony. Proud knights of all stripes and abilities, coming to witness the ascension of this wunderkind who could single-handedly slay two demons where a fully-trained lesser knight would have taken months or even years before he could track down his debut kill.

I've killed them all...

The moment the ancient Order claymore was laid upon her shoulder and the ritual words were spoken, the entire court roared with applause and cheers. Swords were thrust into the air with celebration. She'd looked right to see her friends smiling, and she counted amongst those friends the very same knights who had witnessed her very first demon killing, back when she was but a youngling who'd crawled out of the woods and into the home of a humble old farmer.

Their blood is in my hands.

Then something had torn her out of the stupor of her despair-filled vision. Jezebeth seized with a jolt and yelp. Hands were on her chest, moving, fiddling with her gambeson. When her eyes come into focus (but still watery), she saw a girl beside an old man. Without her notice, this girl had cleaned the blood off her face, and had closed her gambeson to protect her honour.

Jezebeth could only watch with bloodshot eyes as she was being tended to, memories flooding back.

One of her friends and fellow knights had been a girl. The odds of a female joining the Guardian Order of Knights was low, and so it felt like Selene's divine intervention that two should enter the order at the same time. Elizabeth had been her name; Jezebeth had even named her daughter after her.

Gone, no more... For all eternity...

And there had been once when Jezebeth was equally savaged as she was now. Back then, it was during training. The supervising drill-master had to leave Jezebeth and a few others alone when the Grandmaster had summoned him. A man amongst them, unimaginably jealous, had taken the opportunity to make known the severity of his feelings. He, along with two others, had swept Elizabeth aside and beaten her up. The jealous trainee had been blinded by his rage; he was caught and disciplined the moment the drill-master returned. Elizabeth had carried Jezebeth to the infirmary and lovingly tended to her.

And all I can do is to tend to her grave...

"Please, sip this," This unknown girl in a dark blue and brown dress offered, a cup of spirit in hand. "It's magic, it'll help."

For a moment, Jezebeth had actually seen Elizabeth in place of this sympathetic girl. The Knight's eyes gazed hungrily into the Vretonnian's, and when the hallucination was broken by her increased awareness, so was her shattered resolve even further.

Jezebeth had wanted to say something, but the moment her lips parted, great sadness surged through her, as if a great flood to end the world. Her lips, her chin trembled, and she couldn't help but to let out a pathetic whimper. Finally, the beaten Knight shook her head, sobbing.

"I am lost-" Jezebeth said with great difficulty, her eyes had returned to the ground. "Even if the elves would not end my misery-" She sniffled and gritted her teeth (which were all surprisingly intact) for a moment. She returned her silver-eyed gaze at the kindly Vretonnian, her visage of misery thus complete, "I have nothing left- to go back to- They are all dead- And so is my heart-" And with that mere confession, Jezebeth's pain had magnified that she could say no more.

The grizzly old man's jovial smile of glee sank into an everlasting frown of sadness upon his face. He heard the woman who was bound to the ground in front of him spill her story, and in a few ways Ursaren felt like he and her have had a similar run. With a heavy sigh, the priest placed his hand on the shoulder of the bound woman and began to speak with a serious tone, one that would help influence the wisdom of his speech into the poor knight's head. Hopefully she'd be able to hear his words and take them to her heart.

"You have had a similar past to me, my disheartened warrior. I know the sorrows that you have experienced as well, as I was split away from my old party about 40 or so years ago. I understand how you feel, being hopeless and alone, like there is nothing and was nothing you could do to stop what you ave happened. I know this, and I want to help you push through the bad times you are feeling now, and allow you to grow as both a warrior, and a person. I can only do this, however, if you want to try and get over these bad feelings as well. So what say you, miss..." Ursaren waited for her name.

Well, to be sure, her response was mildly more accepting than the Queen's from before. Not utterly charmed, and indeed, a touch amused - Elves, it seemed, were universally less taken by any sort of compliment - but not outright scathing at least. He'd have to refine his arsenal if he wanted to keep up; in retrospect, what he'd said could even be mistaken for an approval of her military side, if she had such a mind. Still, no time for that sort of discussion, for she seemed to be describing the problems of her race around these parts... in the form of a Green Dragon of apparently substantial size.

That... that threw him, he'd admit. He was here to tackle the plans of mice and Dark Elves, not slay a damn Dragon. He hadn't signed up for that, much less armed for it!

Except, he acknowledged with a touch of hand to holster of blade, he was perhaps the most well-armed individual here when it came to slaying that sort of magical beast. Not to suggest he was particularly well-educated, but he was a priest whose deity just loved knowledge, or at least worldly knowledge above and beyond the layfolk, and the very fact that he and his sect knew the value of valdium blades against magically-charged entities was why he had been sent down here to begin with. And at least, it seemed, the party would not be forced to figure out precisely why the Dragon was so violent: the Wood Elves had captured somebody who might know the truth. It'd be an easy time of things if they did, to be sure.

And then everything else fell away, and Settionne came to a grinding halt as he laid eyes on perhaps the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen. Bruised, dishevelled, bloody at certain points, apparently crying, and even left with her chest uncovered for some inexplicable reason, but nonetheless more genuinely attractive to Settionne than any Elf he'd seen so far. He imagined that this was assisted by the shining golden locks atop her head, surely only matched by that particular shade of light brown the Vrettonians were so fond of... not that he'd know what exactly that shade was. He wasn't noble enough to have had the privilege.

But alas, the time to help came and went: the other Vrettonian, Alice if he recalled, and the old hermit Ursaren moved to assist her before Sett could so much as twitch. And what a pity, because that left himself and the Skayleigh with the hard task of berating the Elves for their behaviour, the way you might expect a priest to act at such a sight, and the Skayleigh seemed the sort to avoid any work he could. Oh, goody. At least now he could pass off his short stasis as his being appalled at how they'd treated the unfortunate woman, who by now was sobbing to the two helping her out. And with that snapping him out of it, he turned his head toward Verya, expression mingling a degree of disgust with his prior shock, and his pose shifting as if to exude a damning mannerism.

'Is that how you treat all of your prisoners, ma'am?' he began, putting into his voice a clear tone of disappointment and just the slightest hint of a shout. 'You mentioned before how most men consider you a fey demon, and yet why be surprised when they evidently expect to be beaten and... and exposed by you and yours!' He gestured toward the woman repeatedly as he talked, becoming more animated as time passed. 'What would the Gods think if they saw this woman, this... knight? Yes, this knight of honour, so crudely treated? I can only imagine how upset... uh, let's see, let's see,' he muttered to himself, grinding through the list of deities he knew before continuing to rant, 'Imagine how Falethorwen would weep at such a sight, at her very own people acting in so cruel a manner! For shame,' he finished, punctuating his speech by making the symbol of the Evergod with his hands. At this point, he was sure he'd probably be berated himself for taking such an immediate and rash opposition to the prisoner's treatment- there was any chance that she'd fought her way into that state, and for all he knew, she was in fact a demon in disguise- but if worst came to worst, he could at least try to excuse himself by citing her evident damage and distress, and clearly human physique at least from this distance, and would you care to explain, Verya of the Wood Elves, what else should he think when such a sight was depicted to him, a holy man of comparatively gentle nature? And so on. The Skayleigh probably couldn't be so bold and have any such chance to get away with it, at least.

@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@The Fated Fallen@Banana@Darkraven

An-Hasst couldn't help but feel considerably appalled when he spotted the group of elves doing what they just did. Had they just disturbed an execution ? The woman looted pretty, even in her current state. However... she turned out to be Andred. Given that the Skayleigh were at a more or less constant war with the Andred nation, it was a fact bound to keep his compassion at bay.

Was this the human Verya was referring to ? Most likely. She was the one guiding them, so she had everything in her hands necessary to increase the otherwise extremely slim odds of running into an elven escort with a human prisoner in the midst of the southern wilderness. The giant Skayleigh positioned himself in the midst of the gathering, able to address the group of wood elves and Verya at the same time.

"If I might put this rant into more efficient words while adding something to it... First: Is this the human person you were talking about ? Second: If the answer to question number one is yes, why are you" - he was pointing at the wood elves by now - "treating your living information carrier in such a horrid manner ? You could loose her, you know that ? Or is it the common method here to roam around until accidentally encountering a group of adventures which is generous enouch to patch up your prisoners again ? Third: What makes you believe that she - or whatever human we're talking about - actually has something to do with this dragon ? And, the fourth and most important question, what do we have to do with this ? Are we supposed to slay this dragon or just the monsters it's driving out of their hideouts ? Or both and maybe take the woman with us for the most general cleanup ?`"

An-Hasst's tone didn't lack a certain bit of sarcasm when he talked about the dragon. He wasn't seriously estimating their party to be strong enough to survive an encounter with such a beast. Luckily Alice and Ursaren were already taking care of the woman - one didn't put one's head too far above the parapet by stating that the Skayleigh wasn't exactly the most sensitive pal when it came to first aid.

"Oh and you could at least withdraw your bows. It doesn't do them any good to be under tension when it's not necessary. She certainly won't run away at this point."

@POOHEAD189@BCTheEntity@The Fated Fallen@Banana@Darkraven

Verya looked at the bewildered and appalled group as if they were drunkards dancing upon the parapets of a tall castle wall. Calanon tilted his head and gazed deeply at the captured woman, blinking as if his eyes were deceiving him. He was not usually effected by beauty, and granted he was not nearly as drawn to her as say, Sett or any of the others. Geradin seemed not to notice at all, nor did Argon. The Lizardman did look at the woman and point his sword at her. "Is there a reason this one is bound and beaten, such as dinner?"

Beren moved Argon's sword aside, having a similar reaction to the sight of this new one like Calanon, though his holy pendant within his shirt glowed and grew warming, bringing him back to his senses. "I doubt that, buddy." He idly grabbed the lump of his shirt that hid the pendant, confused at its glowing and at this new woman.

"She was mostly like this when we found her, though she did seem vicious when we tried to search her and we took proper measures, though we warned first." Verya declared to them. "She was covered in the blood of demons. And as for what our Gods say, our priestess of Cendarius felt a disturbance in the divine about this...woman. If you are actually the ones Vanya sent, then I would assume you would have the restraint to allow us to question someone who we nor you know nothing about, yes?"

One of the Elven Rangers, a male of golden hair strode up to An-Hasst. "Where do you hail from? We have not seen one of the Skayleigh in many centuries, my friend." He spoke the word 'my friend' in Elvish, something An-Hasst would be able to understand. Similarly, another few Elves were giving some food to Brogach and speaking cordially yet heatedly in their native tongue with Calanon, at times pointing at Jezebeth as they spoke.
@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@Darkraven@The Fated Fallen

The old man, who had gotten on his knees, had expressed pity for her, launched into a campaign of words designed to alleviate her emotional turmoil, if such a thing was possible.

"I can only do this, however, if you want to try and get over these bad feelings as well. So what say you, miss..." He finally offered, a warm, comforting hand still on her shoulder. It had thoroughly melted her, and she did not reply immediately simply because she couldn't. It took all her strength to put herself under any semblance of control - it helped that she had simply been milked dry of tears by her evil circumstances.

After another moment of straggling sniffles and gasps, Jezebeth scrounged up the little dignity she had left, and finally spoke with confidence borrowed from the ether, her eyes alternating between the old man's and the magical girl: "I am Lady Jezebeth, Daughter of None, Knight and Commander-Aspirant of the Guardian Order, Bane of Demons, Poverty & Famine-" the knight pauses for a moment to let a stray gasp pass. Belatedly, she debated letting anyone know of her stained name, but decided that, after looking at the rest of the party of humans and assorted members of race, that it would occur to them sooner or later, if they hadn't identified her already.

"-Ruby of the Knighthoods of Andred-" Jezebeth stops again, as all her titles had felt meaningless in the face of such catastrophic casualty she'd brought upon the order that'd so kindly took her in. For a moment, her eyes grew distant and she became at risk of losing herself to the maelstrom of hopelessness and despair once more. But she concentrated on the hand on her shoulder, pulled herself back.

"I thank the both of you for bestowing such kindness upon me, before you even know my name," she said, blindly maintaining an air of nobility, but could not help the tinge of forlorn and regret in her voice, as if a cruel wound that would not stop bleeding. "The world needs more people of your moral ilk."

Jezebeth took the old man's hand and squeezed it, her own hands still weak and shivering and cold as if immersed in ice. Intense pain gripped her for the ropes had bitten into her skin. They were tight enough that her fingernails were blue from the lack of blood: "But I fear that I am beyond hope. You say that you've lost your 'party', but I have all but lost an entire army of friends and supporters, nearly all that I have. I can't return home like this, with such shame and guilt on my shoulders."

Her gaze, for a moment, fell on the other adventurers who were arguing for her sake, or had at least taken notice of her, their faces quite telling that they seemed to at least sympathise with her. For a moment, she'd looked eye-to-eye with what appeared to be a young warrior monk - dark-skinned, scarred. For a second, her piercing, silver eyes searched his, but flits away quickly. Something had glowed underneath his shirt, and it reminded Jezebeth of her own necklace.

She could hear the conversations going on between this group and her captors; The elves would not release her.

"Then there is your lot. I fear that my release would come at the price of your companions," she continued, "I would rather be mutilated and raped than to have more deaths on my conscience, and from your story I believe you would want your group unmolested."

"Take word back to my people. Tell them that I am sorry. Tell my daughter I love her - that I will be with her always." Jezebeth finally finished, releasing the old man's hand before her eyes became downcast once more. Yes, there's her daughter too, who would soon be orphaned when she join her husband in death. Pain racked the knight's face, but no tears came for they had all already been expended. She closed her eyes, trying hard not to imagine what life would be like for Elizabeth, her young daughter - would she be taken in by the Guardian Order only to be surrounded by enemies? Or would she be forced out into the streets to live the life of a beggar? Instead, she tried hard to remember the good times - Her marriage, giving birth, holding Elizabeth in her arms, teaching her to walk and talk, and showing her a little of the Guardian Order.

@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@The Fated Fallen

Ursaren listened to the knights many titles, and she stated to the priest that her release would chance the lives of the fair group that he just met, and while that was a big thing to have to undertake, he would definitely take the chance to help bring this girl back to her life of glory. Who knows, maybe she could be the daughter he never had... or at least the student he always wanted to teach. He smiled and began to speak to Jezebeth again, with a more jovial voice on him this time around.

"My dear, nobody is beyond hope unless they forfeit their right to have it, and I promise you that you won't be able to lay an ill-willed finger on anyone here before you have to deal with the likes of me when I'm angry. You may have lost all you know, but I can tell you this. I have faith in you, and I would be the happiest man to see you feel like you were as happy as a mouse with a whole head of cabbage. I'm going to see if I can't help convince these elves to let you out of here."

This was a lot to take in, Ursaren thought before he began to speak. The title that she had held with the Guardian Order was also a bit of an enigma, as he had a small hatred for their 'righteous' notations, which the old man had always seen as selfish, greedy, and self-centered. Ursaren was once offered to join the Order, but very hastily denied it as he despised what the Order did at times. One of his personal experiences being where he healed a young whippersnapper about 18 years old from the wounds he suffered with a corrupt subgroup of that damnable order of righteous twats. Regardless, the past was the past, and Ursaren felt a sense of truth and devout good within the soul of Jezebeth, who was currently locked behind a wall of sorrow and depression. If Ursaren was the key to the lock of that door, be it through his wisdom or his trident, he would surely bust it free. He finally approached Verya and began to speak to her.

"If neither of our groups know whether or not she knows anything, then nobody here has the right to restrain this woman. If anyone is going to do the questioning, as well, it's going to be someone who she has opened up to, and I desire to show her the ways of Maestus. If you need to question her, please allow me to be the one to do it."

@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Darkraven@The Fated Fallen@POOHEAD189

For moments, An-Hasst considered continuing the entire dialogue in the native Elven language which he, due to his half-elven origin, could understand quite well. But what would the others think about that ? Wasn't speaking in a language he knew not everyone would be able to understand quite conspicuous or even offensive ? Not that he was the frontline of the realm of worries about being offensive, but the Skayleigh simply couldn't see any benefit in risking it as well.

An-Hasst returned the greeting in Elvish, but then switched back to the common language which appeared to work even in this rather remote area of the continent. "Well... erm... where Skayleigh usually originate from. The Kaelic Isle. Stuck in the neverending struggle with Andred people." While he put emphasis on the word 'Andred', An-Hasst turned his head and eyes slightly towards Jezebeth. Her claim to be a knight had not failed to insert itself into the Skayleigh's memory for it could imply that she had seen the frontline herself. "I'm An-Hasst Ahal. It is an old tradition among the members of my family to send their child's onto a journey once they're deemed fit. To learn about the rest of the world. So this got me to Riverhope."

An-Hasst let go of a slight sigh before continuing. "And here start's the part that I don't entirely like because I'm not able to give you a clear answer to your question. On the bottom line, I don't know what ultimately got me here. I received an... invitation... to a feast at a local tavern. The meal was very good, but it turned out to be a briefing for a long-run mission as a sideline. I accepted and... So I ended up here with all the others you see. There's trouble with the dark elves, but I don't know why I've been selected to deal with it. I don't even know I was able to attract our tasker's attention in the first place."

@Banana@BCTheEntity@Darkraven@The Fated Fallen@POOHEAD189

Alice disentangled herself from The Andred Lady, and became aware of Settionne launch into a flurry of words somewhere behind herself about honour and the like when it came to the treating of prisoners. Amusement played it's course across Alice's thoughts as she knew from first hand experience few people could stand up to a Vrettonnian letting fly with hostile wits, if only because the accent obscures most speech at that speed to foreigners, leaving the agressées floundering. Even if she had the control to restrain childish thoughts like that in such a morose circumstance she would probably not. Instead she kept it far from anyone else, and not a twitch reached her face.

Ursaren quickly moved in to the more intimate and comforting position, trying to keep wayward eyes on himself and away from her captors. At least the eyes now see, Alice considered this to be at least somewhat of an improvement. Next came coherent speech, and with it tragedy. "I am Lady Jezebeth, Daughter of None, Knight and Commander-Aspirant of the Guardian Order, Bane of Demons, Poverty & Famine-" the woman paused, but Alice knew what she was going to say. Almost any person with military knowledge or noble heraldry knew those names, let alone a Vrettonnian. "-Ruby of the Knighthoods of Andred-"

Alice began to put a picture together. Andred was very powerful indeed, it was foolish to believe that they had no knowledge of events around these parts, even if they knew only the symptoms and not the causes. The Elven queen might not know of such a move because it was signature Andred heavy handedness to try and sort it out by themselves, without contacting the locals since "if they saved the day who can argue?" But clearly, that hadn't happened. So Andred had sent some knights to deal with a dragon, as the bards would sing about surely, and their precious jewel with it to champion another cause. Something had happened along the way and The Ruby of Knighthoods, or Jezebeth, though it was hard to put a simple name to such powerful titles, was distraught over her loss.

The cold calculation of circumstances made it seem like Alice didn't care or sympathise at all, though this was far from the truth. Though she'd never shared the same shoes, she understood the dance. Such things you didn't even pray to guard against, because they are unthinkable. Stories like the kind Alice had just figured (perhaps wrongly) make you think about what it would be like if such a thing were to happen to yourself, and likely wake you up in a cold shiver for nights to come until your mind can settle itself. She took a swig of the Elven juice still clutched in her hand, and wished it were Dwarven Stout.

Still, Alice moved away and listened to the other conversations, if not taking an active role. She noted how even when the Elves tried to switch the conversation to their own language An-Hasst kept it in the common tongue. Being born in the Vrettonnian courts, few social cues like that escaped her attention, and she found a new respect for the half-breed. Now was not the time to divide, and it was good to be travelling with people of the same belief. She also noticed his hostile glance towards Jezebeth at the mention of his homeland, no doubt due to the great friction between the two nations. Although Andred and Vrettonnia were constantly fighting Alice couldn't really relate in the same way. The way her homeland interacted with the other power was more along the lines of sibling rivalry and 'rough and tumble' in comparison to the conquest of The Kaelic Isle, few Vrettonians felt kindred with An-Hasst's kind.

She decided to stand near the conversation, though stayed out of it for now. The Elf, Verya, probably had her hands full as it was!

When the old man declares his intention to get Jezebeth released, the lady-knight relented. Beyond the fact that her free-will had been forfeit since her capture by the Wood Elves, beyond the fact that her choices were limited, the old man seemed to have understood at least that she didn't want her freedom bought with blood, or at least he'd understood that he would stand no chance against her captors.

The magic-girl had left as well, though not to put herself in the centre of attention to plea for her release, but to listen, perhaps await her turn.

That these strangers would do such a kindly thing for her had moved Jezebeth. It wasn't the first time that total strangers had so readily assisted her - with her fame, her position, and if nothing else, her divine beauty, who would not do so? Especially when there's the possibility of reward, be it in gold, prestige or... companionship? There are plenty who would follow her to the demonic ends of the Earth if need be, just to be allowed a gaze of her from time to time. But this time, it was different, the knight knew. This time, she had been stripped of nearly everything; everything that she was weren't so apparent.

Jezebeth shifted her gaze to catch another member of the group peeking at her from the corner of her eyes as he was warming up to the elves, for one purpose or another. It told of a pet hatred, and it wasn't a great mystery. Her homeland, Andred, hadn't been kind to the Skayleighs of the Kaelic Isle, and the general reputation of her kingdom had rubbed off on her.

If Jezebeth wasn't at her lowest point, she'd just plunged into its murky, tentacled depths. The Guardian Order of Knights was similarly stained by such a reputation, limiting their reach across that part of the region and damaging their fame. By the decree that made them shortly after the demon wars, the Guardian Order was formed to fight demons and only other similar foul creatures if need be - to help preserve humanity and to an extent, the other good races. Sadly, the Guardian Order wasn't entirely pristine in their conduct at times. For every organisation made of people, there was bound to be some bad apples who would sully one name or another.

And speaking of bad apples, Jezebeth knew herself to be one... In some ways. Even before she had led a hundred knights and men-at-arms of the Order to their doom, she'd taken certain... Liberties, when her mood swung one way or the other. This had reached a peak after her husband's death, when her bed was emptied, cold and lifeless. That she'd managed to keep this from her daughter, friends and fellow knights was nothing short of a miracle. Or natural cunning. (A knight - cunning!)

Her problem had been a constant companion, matched only by her necklace. Ever since she'd been taken in by old farmer George, Jezebeth had been craving intimacy of all kinds, and ever since she'd known how to, she'd spent her life trying to fight it - by distracting herself with games, intellectual or emotional company, with pursuits of work, music, the different arts and skills, with books, and finally with prayer and religious devotion. The good news had been that they had worked most of the time - she would grudgingly forgo the drug of her being. The bad news was that it'd continued to dog her throughout her known 15 years of life, and it'd resulted in adulteries still kept in secret, and secret relationships, both brief and long, that she'd maintained.

The knight looked away quickly, her eyes rolling to the ground, awaiting the judgement of the Gods and Goddesses.

"Very well." Verya said to Calanon, her words shifting from their flowing tongue to the common northern speech. The Elves looked to one another, and to Jezebeth, but relented a moment later. The archers that held bows to her backed up a step, and Calanon walked up and nodded to the woman. The young Elven Ranger gave her a reassuring look as he knelt down before her and Ursaren. "If you'd have us, we can take you along our road and see your true intentions. Forgive them, but my people have been battling evil for longer than the memories of man."

"Dorcha!" one of the Elves spat as An-Hasst mentioned Dark Elves, using the sub-race's true, evil name. "We greet you, An-Hasst of the Kaelic lands." The other Elf, this one bearing the armor of a Captain, gave him an Elvish salute and greeting with a flowing gesture of the hand. "Calm water and fresh air upon your travels. I feel Felathrowen will guide you forward, for there is a reason we are all here."

The next few moments, the Elf Captain reached into his pack, and produced a small leather sack. He held it out for An-Hasst to take. "Le'ednal Berries." he explained. "In times of great distress, eating one will give you clarity of thought and firm footing in your actions."

Argon's head slide around An-Hasst's shoulder. The large Lizardman was the only one of the party that could rival An-Hasst in height. "Issss thisss food?" the Lizardman asked, blinking as it regarded the pouch. His tongue flicked out to smell the scents in the air.

Beren breathed in through his nose, keeping himself quiet for now and taking in all of what was transpiring. "Looks like we have another addition to the team, lad." Geradin said, patting Beren's side, for he could not reach his shoulder. "The sooner we get moving the better," the Warrior Monk replied. "Don't ye worry. Plenty of fights coming, I'd wager. Just be glad we have a place to stay, even if it's a...Fey place." The Elves had noticeably not spoken to Geradin as of yet.
@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@Darkraven@The Fated Fallen

Jezebeth had thus far neglected to listen to the conversations in the Elvish language - while she wasn't a prodigy in it, she would have been able to translate a few words and glimpse some truth in her fate. But fate had its own way, independent of the machinations of intelligent hands.

Somehow, the elf companion of the group had bought her freedom, with what words or price, the knight didn't know yet. With so many words in favour of her released like arrows to blot out the sun, she was sure that the others had a part in her release as well. While grateful, her freedom meant little to her - it wouldn't bring her fellow knights and servants of goodness back. It wouldn't undo her folly, and unbar her way back home to her Order's castle, which had been her home for over a decade, and her daughter, who was left with a close friend, a nun with the Order.

Then this elf who was with her saviours, who she observed to be quite handsome, knelt before her and said, "If you'd have us, we can take you along our road and see your true intentions. Forgive them, but my people have been battling evil for longer than the memories of man."

His eyes met Jezebeth's, told her that she was safe. The knight searched them, her silver eyes as if peering into his soul, reading it, trying to find the truth. She believed him whole-heartedly - any bad intentions would have resulted in a very different outcome, considering that she had been forced hours ago into a submissive position.

"I am yours," Jezebeth said, putting as much meaning into her words as possible. What else was she to do? The Guardian Knight knew that she could not go back, and her mission to hunt down demons and possibly stem the flow of their armies into the realm was stalled by her army's utter defeat and annihilation, and she couldn't very well do anything by herself. "And you will see that I am not the demon these paranoid elves seem to think I am."

Her hands were still bound vindictively tight that she couldn't even wriggle them under the ropes. Even a slight movement would sting under such conditions, and it'd bitten her hard when she'd gotten up. But Jezebeth wasn't quite worried about it, no. Looking down at her elf friend's feet, then to the bare ground, she wondered if anything could truly set her free - set her mind at ease, and her heart to calm. Because it'd felt at the moment that she was damned, for the weight in her was as heavy as before.

@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@The Fated Fallen

((Kept forgetting to tag you guys, but problem solved))

'Covered in the blood of demons, you say...' Sett muttered half to himself after Verya's chastisement, still in the guise of "appalled man of the Gods". 'You'd think that'd mean she's slain demons, not that she is a demon, but what do I know, I'm just a lowly priest, goodness gracious,' he continued, slowly lowering his ramble to a mutter and moving away from Verya as he continued. Once he was sure he was out of earshot, and as others continued to fuss over the beauteous... Jezebeth, he thought he heard? He transitioned his under-breath mutterings from mere nonsense to a short prayer to Fineki, praying momentarily for the charisma to further enhance his arguments. Artificial, natural, whatever form it needed to take so as to further impact the force of his words, because now he almost wanted to crush Verya's arguments underfoot. Not, of course, that he needed additional charisma to make a reasonable point, but it helped.

Regardless of whether his deity blessed him so, he eventually retransitioned back to incoherent rambling, moving toward the larger quantity of the group as if he'd naturally paced back and forth like that, before raising his voice back to normal levels as he uttered toward the Elven captain 'And to think you call holding the poor lady a fingerslip away from death a form of "questioning"! An arrow to the throat will hardly prove a good source of information, will it? And it's not as though she posited a notable threat beyond her capture proper, unless some form of magic which does not require gesticulation or runecraft exists, and then unless I'm underinformed on the subject? I believe at least one other member of our party will be able to confirm or deny that, I am not myself well-versed in the topic direct... now if it were my fellow man Zacharieas you were asking, that would be another matter, of course...' Not that they'd be able to ask him, for "Zacharieas" would turn out to be the amalgamation of one man's name and another's knowledge, should they somehow trace him all the way back to his sect in Vrettonia. The knowledge was Jaq's, intolerable know-it-all that he was. Bloody Jaq.

Ursaren stood above the kneeling elf and in front of Jezebeth, the woman whom the old man wished to take under his wing and help get over these bad feelings that she has right now. With the same jovial voice, Ursaren responded to the elf with haste. "Very well." The old man walked over to the bindings residing on Jezebeth's arms as he undid them. Ursaren would have to be on high alert and attempt as hard as he can to keep his little secret under his cloak. If he revealed what he was in front of these elves, he'd be swarmed by the group of elves and pretty much slain where he stood.

Once Jezebeth was unbound, Ursaren offered her a hand to help her onto her feet, and smiled at her reassuringly. He was looking forward to helping her see that she can earn her honor back, and overall get these ideas of rejection and dishonor out of her head for good. With the smile on his face, the jolly tone of voice he possessed, and his trident aimed towards the sky in his other hand. If you were in Jezebeth's point-of-view, the old man would look insanely badass. "So Jezebeth, are you ready to come with us and get over these horrible feelings?"

Is this food ? Is this food ? Is this food ? Is this... How many times had the lizardman asked this simple question since he had joined the party ? An-Hasst felt resentment arise in him about the fact that it was just so difficult to predict which things would turn out to be worth counting in the future and which not. Such an ability would make life so much more enjoyable sometimes...

Before picking one of the Le'ednal berries out of the Captain's leather sack, An-Hasst responded with almost the same kind of salute. It was a quick and fluid gesture without much hesitation in it. The Skayleigh himself had not yet been in the military, but a large enough number of his family members were. It was next to impossible not to pick up some kind of a soldier's education in the Ahal clan and since they all were of half-elfish origin, there were striking similarities in style.

He divided the berry with his front teeth, sucking in the one half and pushing it around inside his mouth until it had hit every section of his tongue he could imagine of while holding the other half between his thumb and index finger. "Curious sensation. It's a bit... spicy, isn't it ?" He subsequently consumed the other half, this time at a much faster rate. "You should try these if you don't already know them. I'm not from here, so for me this is new." An-Hasst addresed Argon who was standing right next to him. "So yes, this is food." he added in a slightly teasing manner.

He could hear Beren in the background. Something about another addition... Oh dear. Did this mean that this captured woman was going to join the party ? Another Andred! He quickly sunk his huge fingers into the small sack and extracted another berry, even though 'calming down' had - unfortunately, maybe - not been on the list of things this creation of nature could do. And the clarity of thought ? Given that Andred and Kaelic people were pretty much enemies this benign effect had potential to backfire in his case.

The Skayleigh managed to patch things up and express his appreciation towards the nicely armored wood elf in front of him. "I thank you for this offering. I'm sure they will be of good use." He bowed, allowing the much smaller wood elf to look at his face without accumulating pain in the neck. Probably.

@POOHEAD189@BCTheEntity@Banana@Darkraven@The Fated Fallen

Alice spoke in reply to Settione's assertion, and fell into an academic tone ingrained into memory from long nights studying. "Magic does require accurate gestures and often incantations for mundane creatures like us, who often need even more help focusing energies with magical items like staffs and wands. Some creatures, like dragons, can throw spells off the cuff with no warning. That is conjecture, however Lady Jezebeth hasn't been accused of being a dragon. Demons are in their fibre and being magical, and a certain level of enchantment is always present with them. However, anything past their natural talent requires spellcasting like us humans. For example, a succubus will be able to weave seduction magics without uttering a syllable, but throwing a fireball would take a spell. The opposite can be said of a more destructive demon, however." content with her explanation, Alice went back to listening to various conversations while trying to remember what she had learned on the topic.

Did she believe Lady Jezebeth could possibly be a demon? Covered in demon blood would certainly point to her opposing them, but the true reason would likely elude the party for a while as the knight seemed in no fit state to give testimony. Alice had felt extremely sympathetic to her upon first greeting which might be a sign of manipulation, but that didn't seem too out of character for her, or at least she hoped not. The young wizard made a mental note to keep careful observation of Urasen and Lady Jezebeth, and to research demons at the earliest convenience. It was unknown to Alice whether demons could possess someone this late in life, as they tend to go for weaker souls. The alternative was almost crazy, that the cream of the Andred noble crop had been deceiving the entire country for her whole life. Both hypotheses pointed to an extremely powerful and subtle demon.

Alice shook and cleared her head, fixing her hair afterwards in a thought trance. This is instantly assuming guilt, she pondered The far more likely scenario is either the elves were wrong or Jezebeth was fighting demons... Though what if she was being manipulated to think things like that by the potential demon? Damn all of this! she angrily took a too large swig of mead and spluttered a bit, thinking not for the first time that she might have spent too much time around Dwarves, and that everything could do with a lot more clarity!

With care, the old man who had comforted Jezebeth somewhat undid the ropes that had bound her hands so tightly. It'd taken some time, for the knots were complicated, tight and done thrice over - that was just how much the elves had suspected her of one crime of being or another. When it'd finally loosened and come undone, Jezebeth cried in pain as blood returned to her hands, as the wounds that the ropes had inflicted on her wrists pulsed with sensations. For a few seconds, it was unimaginable, like getting run through with a blade (and Jezebeth knew how that felt), but much of it subsided soon after.

The old man then stood up, thrust his trident to the sun (looking very powerful indeed and very fitting for someone who'd saved a prominent knight from the oblivion of hopelessness and death), offering a hand to her: "So Jezebeth, are you ready to come with us and get over these horrible feelings?"

Perhaps it should not have been so, but it took Jezebeth time to mull over his offer; what she'd experienced had slowed her so to such good things. But when she finally came to it, the answer seemed obvious: She had lost everything, she had failed her mission which was impossible to complete to begin with, and she couldn't go back. The only way forward was to linger, but for what purpose? Perhaps that would be revealed in the near future.

"Yes. Please," Jezebeth said and took his hand, her own still shaking, a rather anaemic and meek look on her face, as opposed to the redemptive smile she thought she should've put on. As it stood, the knight believed that she could never smile again, for every time a sliver of what resembled gladness or happiness somehow came into her mind, the death of her hundred brothers and sisters would come back to her, drive it out.

The old man was strong for his apparent age, and with a single hand, he pulled her up almost without effort on her own part; Jezebeth did feel weak, never thought she could stand again. The sharp stone that had been cutting into her left knee fell belatedly, and a blot of blood was soon expanding on her trousers there.

Jezebeth gazed up and into the old man's eyes, the eyes of her saviour, as lovingly as someone as broken and miserable as her could. For a flash, old farmer George's face had replaced his, and Jezebeth was confused by this phantasm - It had been a long day, after all.

"How may I address thee, kind one?" Jezebeth managed.

@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@The Fated Fallen

Calanon's gaze seemed to be ensnared within Jezebeth's too-pretty eyes for a moment, but he shook it off. He took that as being very convinced she was not of the evil sort. Her 'I am yours' comment was one of a comrade and fellow soldier, but for some reason it had him flushing. "Welcome," he told her, his smile warm. He backed out of Ursaren's way for a bit and allowed him to unbind the woman.

Beren strode over and stood next to Alice, the young warrior monk nodding as she explained. He seemed a tad impressed at her knowledge. "Where did you study magic again?" he asked her. He might be a fighter and an unarmed brawler, but the young man tended to enjoy reading books of lore, no matter how obscure the knowledge.

"Stick with this one, lad!" Geradin said, suddenly appearing between them and poking Alice in the side as he winked. "She's got the know-how. I swear I've heard her talk her way out of an Ogre's cooking pot before. Quite a sight too, mainly for the Ogre. I called down me God's wrath before it could take the astonishment off its ugly face. Hehehe."

The Captain speaking to Ann-Hasst began to say "Those are only for dangerous situ-" but another Elf cut him off with a hand to his shoulder. One of the Elves laughed melodiously. "It has a bit of a tangy taste, yes. I do hear that those who aren't of our people taste it differently. Perhaps it's spicier for you?" As An-Hasst ate the two berries, suddenly his mind whirred and he could very well see quite a few things clearly.

He could tell a few of the party members were almost certainly smitten with this newcomer, who was far too attractive in every way to be normal. Though he sensed no danger, despite her gaze holding every gaze that met hers like a cobra would a mouse. He could clearly see the annoyance of the Elves in the trees at Sett's comments, who seemed to be on the verge of shouting at him or shooting him for so insulting their captain. He could see the raised eyebrow on Verya was one of disapproval and not inquisitiveness like many raised eyebrows were, and her words (about how Sett was jumping the gun) held a subtle tone that she was very disappointed at Settionne for he initially had given her a good impression. He could clearly see that Geradin was wanting to play match maker with Beren and Alice to curb any chance of Beren being with an Elf as a few of the female Elves gazed at him admiringly, though Geradin then went on a tangent of a story and forgot his original intention. An-Hasst could also see Argon's simple way of looking at things did not mean an unintelligent mind, and could formulate he was far more wise than any would have initially given credit for. From bits of his memory growing up, he could deduce that while Argon's teeth were carnivorous, many reptiles ate plants and fruit when prey was lacking and therefore Argon must feel a similar such function. So many thoughts and realizations twirled in An-Hasst's head it was hard to take a hold of it all.

@Darkraven@The Fated Fallen@Fetzen@Banana